Infected
by FelixMackey
Summary: Work in progress, criticism welcomed, desired even. I'd like to go somewhere with this. Should explain the infection perhaps; it's a parasite that takes control of the host's body by attaching to the spine. At least that is what it is for now.


"Barton! Fuck. Don't. Don't come near me. I swear to god I will fucking rip you apart if you so much as move."

It's...concerning enough to give him pause. He scans the room, glances at the trail of corpses behind him, checks his arrow, his aim, the ceiling and door. Checks under his boots, carefully, because you never know. Glances at his watch, because he knows that much. But he doesn't move.

"Four minutes Tasha." he says, tense, but patient. Patience is his thing.

She doesn't answer right away, breathing heavy and fast and trussed up like an animal. A drop of blood falls from her temple to join the sickening pool at her feet and he can't honestly be expected to stand here for this so he starts forward, a short step.

"Don't. Fucking. Move." she grinds out. And goddamnit he stops. He just. Stops. Arrested. Confused, he eyes the ground warily, because he is looking for what, a land mine? A trip wire? "What am I looking for Tash?"

She hesitates and his head snaps up. She's not looking at him, she is gasping and bleeding and dying, but he is absolutely sure the next thing she is going to say to him is a lie.

"Tasha?"

"I'm infected." she manages, glaring up at him now, angry and beat to hell and not at all lying. Not at all.

It takes him a second, ten seconds, to process this. To hear. He slides how bow away, because really, and palms the bolt cutters. She watches him carefully, a smear of blood painting her nose lips and chin. He is sure she is in pain.

"How far along?" he says, still not moving.

"Three and a half hours." She spits blood onto the floor, graceless like she never is. He does some quick mental math.

"There's still time." he says. He only just manages to lift her slight frame with one hand to get some slack in the chain to keep her from collapsing. Somehow, he doesn't see it coming when she headbutts him, hard, just grunts in surprise and pain and staggers back clutching his face. Hears her gasp as the chain goes taut, yanking her arms up.

"What the fuck Tasha?!" He pushes the white blur from his eyes with his free hand.

"Stay there Barton." she says, too calm, her chest shaking like a trapped hummingbird while her body sways, just her toes keeping her from swinging like a pig on a meat hook. "You know what happens."

He actually wastes a good twenty seconds staring at her, dumbstruck. "You think what, I'm gonna fucking leave you here?"

"You know what happens." she says again, implacable. She's watching him now, fresh blood seeping from her nose and lip.

"Fuck that." he says, checking his watch and squeezing the cutters. Two minutes. "I'm taking you back, Tash, whether you like it or not."

"You cut me loose and I'll kill you." They both know it's probably true. She's taken him down before. "You know I can do it."

He considers his options. "I'll take my chances." and he rushes her.

"No. Barton. Clint-" And he can hear the edge of panic creeping into her voice but it's too late, he's already beside her. She kicks out at him suddenly, sloppy but fast and he knows her ankle is broken, catches her leg in his arm, pinning her against the wall. She's not done yet, twisting artfully and smashing her knee into his temple, but she's weak from blood loss and it only stuns him for a half second before he pins both legs under his arm, shoving her back against the wall with his shoulder. He knows it hurts, can feel the wind huff out of her and in that moment he cuts the chain and catches her fists in his hand, looping her still-bound wrists around his neck, literally sweeping her off her feet.

It's only a second before she twists behind him, slamming them both into the wall, and draws the rope tight around his neck.

"You are a fucking idiot." she hisses, desperately angry and he can't really fault her logic. He shifts and she tightens her thighs around his rib cage. He can feel it give, feels the tightness in his breath for fucks sake, and it's goddamn unpleasant is what it is. He wants to get an elbow into her ribs, a reverse head butt, something, but anything he does us only going to do more harm than she might be able to withstand, and he's not ready to risk it. They still have a minute left.

"This you Tash? Or it?" he gasps a little. Still too alive for it to be anything but her, but he's gotta ask.

She hesitates, "Does it matter?"

He shrugs, easier said than done under the circumstances, "Not really." and twists her broken ankle away from his body. She screams in agony and that will fucking haunt him for months, he knows, but he is blessedly, wondrously free. He tosses her neatly over his body and has his bow cocked before she can even flip herself upright. She stumbles a little, hobbled by the rope and broken ankle, but she comes up standing straight, panting, face proud and resigned and he knows, right then, that she has no idea who he is.

He shoots anyways.

The arrow buries itself in the wall behind her. To say she was surprised would be an understatement. "You missed."

"No," he replies, watching her hand touch her shoulder, sees when her eyes go wide, then soft and confused. "I didn't." He catches her before she hits the ground, pulls her tiny, pliant body into his arms and there's a split second where it is possible he might cry but he shoves that down ruthlessly, not so far gone that he can't see pointless when it is staring him in the face. Instead he presses a kiss to the top of her hair and shields her from the blast.


End file.
